Child Psychology
by TaylorPaige24
Summary: "I stopped talking when I was six years old. I didn't want anything more to do with the outside world. But of course they wouldn't leave me alone." Dark Angela fic. *Hiatus*
1. Wild One

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the _Outsiders_ or the song "Wild One"

**A/N: **I got a request a long time ago to do a darker Angela fic. Recently, I've become unhappy with DMT, so I'm going to take a break and focus on this story for a while.

I'm going to try to keep it T rated but I am making this darker and edgier than what I've done before. Or at least attempt to. Enjoy!

* * *

_All my life I've wanted to be somebody and here I am. I know what I've got and there ain't nobody gonna take it away from me. So let me tell ya what I am! I'm a red hot fox, I can take the knocks. I'm a hammer from hell, honey, can't you tell? I'm the wild one, yes, I'm the wild one_

I stopped talking when I was six years old. I didn't want anything more to do with the outside world. But of course they wouldn't leave me alone.

"Why don't you speak, Angela?"

It's a question that's asked over and over again like a song I just can't get out of my head. Same beat, same rhythm, every fucking time. It's a humming in the background, a reason why people stare and whisper when I walk through the halls at school. People always stare at pretty things they don't quite understand.

My mother promised me anything I wanted; just ask long as I asked for it out loud. She didn't understand why her happy go lucky daughter was so fucked in the head. That's how she always saw me. Fucked in the head. She saw the marks on my neck. She saw me coming home at odd hours and leaving unannounced.

She doesn't understand how I ended up like her.

My step father tried the harder approach to get me to speak. When his voice became rare, he settled for using his fits until they became sore as well. He doesn't care that he's not my real father or that I haven't spoken to my real father since my fifth birthday when he showed up drunk and feel face first into my cake. David is the new daddy.

Tim's the only one who doesn't say anything. Nothing. Maybe he likes the fact that he has a little sister and she doesn't speak. She can't annoy him like all his friend's siblings. He cooperates, feeding me when I need fed, changing the channel when he knows I'd rather shoot myself in the face than watch sports.

Still, he's just like the others. There are so many things about me he doesn't quite understand.

He's too afraid to figure them out.

Do I blame him?

No.

You walk with me to the candy store to get licorice. Red. It's my favorite and it's Friday and school's out and I need some sugar. I can tell something is bothering you. Today it's especially quite. You mostly do all the talking, but today it's dead.

I nudge your arm. This usually gets you talking but your face is fallen and landed on the ground.

"Wanna go to a party tonight? It's supposed to be low key but they got some good stuff."

I nod. I always nod.

* * *

"You're fourteen fucking years old," he snarls, his upper lip twitching with anger and low tolerance. "Why the hell do you have all that shit on your face?"

I'm fifteen. He missed that birthday party just like most of the others. I shrug, going back to applying more lipstick. Darker, redder, bolder. Anything to make him squirm a little bit more. I may not say much to annoy Tim, but I sure can play the part when I want to and he knows this.

"Whatever," he growls. "I'm not covering for you with David. If he wants to beat your ass, I'm not going to stop him."

He will.

I expect him to leave but he doesn't. You're in the bathroom showering. You can never get clean enough. It's your obsession. You like to shower at my house. I know you imagine one of my brothers coming in there with you. You'd never admit that to anyone though. Not even me, your best friend.

Tim sits down at the end of my bed, watching me through the mirror.

I peer up at him.

"You know where Curly is?"

I shake my head.

"I sent him out on a job and he ain't back yet."

I shrug.

His face twists. He mumbles under his breath, "I'm gonna kick his ass if he messed this up for me." He says this, yet we both know he's worried something_ did_ go wrong and maybe it was Curly who got into trouble this time.

The pink blush hits my cheek, powder going all over the mirror.

Tim stands up, pointing his finger into the mirror and glaring. "Be careful tonight, hear me? I don't need another fucking dumbass sibling to worry about tonight. Use your head. Got it?"

I hear the shower stop and I know you'll be out soon. You'll come out in just a towel and turn dark red once you see Tim sitting here, looking at you. You don't know what to do when boys look at you. Boys have been like lions to you. You being the little gazelle too scared to make any sudden moves when those big hungry eyes look your way.

Lucky for you, Tim is too angry to stew here any longer and he's decided to march out the front door.

"Ready to go?"

I grin at myself in the mirror. I'm always ready.

* * *

The woods are eerie at night fall. The fire is burning in the middle of us. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven of us. One, two, three bottles of liquor. One bag of weed. All these lost souls coming together to bake in the moonlight. This is a party after all, and you're not allowed to be sad at a party.

The boys are lighting off fireworks and doing their boyish things. The girls are smoking joints, and you're sitting on the end of the bench, trying to find your place in all of this.

I get up and sit next to you. I don't fit in much with the girls anyway. I never have. You know this. This is why we're best friends. "Shut up," you say in your angry voice.

I hold the joint in-between my fingers, watching the glowing embers beam. Tim started smoking when I was ten. I remember how strong the smell was, how much I wanted some, how much I couldn't wait to be a big kid and smoke. It's a shame really, it's not much. It barely even works anymore and I wish I hadn't wished I was older because unlike all my other wishes - like my father coming home or my mother getting better - that one came true.

Something in a tiny case is being passed around. Everyone takes a slip of paper and lets it sit on their tongues. When it gets around to us I take two, but you pass up the offer. You've never been one for drugs. You like to watch and listen.

"Oh give me some!" George says. George has tan skin and long black hair. His eyes are black like the sky, even in the daytime. He's wearing a white t-shirt and blue jeans and tiny beads of sweat appear on his neck and I lick my lips.

The wolves howl in the distance and I want to join them. I want to run.

I go over and lie in the leaves. They crunch as my body hits them. I close my eyes for a few seconds and when I awake, George is lying next to me. He says he sees colors and lights and so do I. His hand reaches for mine and we lie in the leaves together and stare at the stars.

There have been many Georges in my life. Tough guy with a lost boy agenda. He's not the first and I'm sure he won't be the last. He's the type that wants his woman tied down and to obey. He's a one woman one man kind of guy and he wants to settle down. Me, I'm just getting started.

"I've heard of you, you know."

My head turns to him. I grin mischievously.

"The Shepard sister. Angela Shepard. Got all the boys turning heads at school, crossing lines left and right, all the girls hate her; she's one of a kind. She's got that kind of smile that..." his hands cup my face, his lips getting closer, "that says she'll eat you up and spit you out."

I notice things. I notice lots of things. I've learned a lot. Words belong to the talkers. They don't belong to me. Why bother? Who needs them? That girl in the corner, she cuts herself. I see the small lines through the white shirt. She's laughing but she's dying inside. I see this. I see what others can't see. I see the truth. Words change all this. They cloud over so much.

Truth is: I like being quite. I see the truth in people. I see what they're hiding.

That's why I scare them so much.

I'm not scared of anything. I'm fucking Angela Shepard...and nothing scares me.

So that's why I let George take me into his tent.

Love? What is love? Maybe my mother didn't love me enough. Maybe it's because my father left me when I was six years old. Maybe it's because I've seen so many girls pass through my brother's bed room. Blame it on whatever you want, but what is love? What's it good for? Nothing.

He's thrusting himself into me, over and over again. I try to act the part. I make a sound here and there, but I'm uninterested and I can't feel a thing. He keeps going and going and it feels like an eternity before he comes and rolls off, like a pig that's finished eating a meal.

One of the demons is very thin, with high cheekbones, long black hair and pitch black eyes. He's standing outside the tent, watching us. Another has white hair and eyes, wearing a pinstriped tuxedo. My hands start to sweat and I calm myself, trying to block out the images. I can't let this happen right now.

"Angela..." George touches my shoulder. His lips move down my arm. "You're amazing."

I get up and put my shirt and skirt back on. George is giggling on beside me. He's proud of himself like he's done something so good, so well. If I were to ever choose to speak, this would be the time, just so I could tell him how small of a dick he has and how bad of a fuck it really was.

Instead, I remain silent, putting on the rest of my clothes and crawling out of the tent.

You're still sitting on the log by yourself. I go over to you and smoke a cigarette. I need one after that adventure and you don't say anything as I go through your pack.

Everyone's tripping. Everyone's running about like kids again. Maybe that's why we do it. It takes us back to a better time. A time when there were no worries and everything seemed real and there was actually some innocence in us. Back when we were pure and not broken.

It's the nightmares you have to watch out for. The night terrors.

I need to walk around. I take your pack of cigarettes and go out into the woods.

I don't remember what it was like before I stopped talking. At first it just became a thing to bug my mom about. Then it became so simple and no one really noticed at first. It got so easy to the point where it felt only natural to continue on. The teachers all think I'm a brat, the students think I'm mental. Everyone's got a fucking opinion.

Deeper and deeper the woods get. I don't realize how far I'm going or where or why. Sometimes I just need to move. Keep moving, keep my head thinking, keep my body warm.

Smoke rises up from my cigarette as a familiar figure approaches me.

"I saw you coming out of George's tent."

She walks towards me, her beady eyes trying to threaten me.

"He's my boyfriend, you know. Don't shove your flat tits at him."

I stare at her as I smoke. The smoke blows on her. She's in front of me, trying to frighten me, make me crack. Then, all of a sudden, she begins to cackle like a witch around her potion.

"There are bugs in your hair."

I shake my head, my breathing picking up. She's right. I can feel them. I want them out. _Get them out! Get the out!_

"Go home, little girl." Her finger pokes my chest. "You don't belong here."

I try to calm myself, but the bugs still make me panic.

"What? Are you mad?" I can feel her breath on my face. Peppermints and white wine. "Go on, speak! I know you can. You only do that shit for attention. Admit it."

She puts her hands on me again. I'm pinned up against a tree, my heart racing. There are bugs everywhere. They're eating at my skin. They're all over me. They're suffocating me.

"Hit me," she says slowly. "I dare you to hit me."

So I do. As hard as I can I hit her but it does nothing but make her go down and take me with her. The bugs have taken over my body. I'm useless.

We're both on the ground. I can't breathe. I know she's on top of me but it's so dark everywhere else. There are voices in the background and she's crushing me and I can't breathe. I'm freaking. I'm freaking out. I'm tripping.

My happy childhood reenactments have turned into familiar nightmares.

Her hand is over my mouth. She watches me try to break free. She watches me cry. "If you ever come near my boyfriend again, I'll kill you. You hear me!? I'll kill you in cold blood! I'll kill you! Speak, damnit! Speak!"

It happens and darkness falls.

Then I see it.

My hands are covered in it.

The rocks are covered in it.

I can't get it off.

I can't get clean.

I'm down here on my knees by the river tonight, and my hands are covered in this girl's blood, and there's no getting it off now. There's no going back. "Congratulations," you say, taking a drag from your cigarette. "You're officially a bad girl who's lost her fucking mind."

_I've got my head screwed on and the days are gone. When you kept me down and you pushed me 'round. I'm the wild one, yes, I'm the wild one. I'm a blue eyed bitch and I wanna get rich. Get out of my way 'cause I'm here to stay. I'm the wild one, yes, I'm the wild one._

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**A/N: **Thank you for reading and please review! This chapter was very hard to write so I'd really like some feedback on it.

I'll try to update Tiptoe Through the Dark on Thursday or Wednesday.


	2. Red Lipstick

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the _Outsiders_ or the song "Follow Me Down"

* * *

_Three Months Later:_

_Nights avoiding things unholy. Your hand slips across my skin. I go down on you so slowly. Don't confess none of your sins. Have I lost my mind? Have I lost my mind? Follow me down to the river. Drink while the water is clean. Follow me down to the river tonight. I'll be down here on my knees._

You're standing by my locker, your eyes big. You're watching me. You've been watching me for three months like you're waiting for something. Waiting for the snap. Waiting for the big blow. There's a lot to watch, I know, but please, it's not polite to stare, now is it?

I throw my failing book report in the back of my locker along with my suspension form. I'm supposed to get someone to sign it. Normally I'd just forge it, but the teachers have caught on. I know soon I'll have to give it to Tim, considering he's the only one home these days, and he rarely is. I could always get Curly to do it for me. He's not very trust worthy though. He'd tell Tim or David or Mom just for spite. Tim was my only option. Jesus, he was really lay into me.

Everyone's talking about it. I pretend like I can't hear but you're staring again, waiting. Always waiting.

"You wanna go get some dinner tonight?"

I shake my head. I've got other plans.

"Did you hear about that Grace girl that they found in the woods? Poor George. I think he really thought she might still be alive. Poor baby."

Everyone's talking about it. I wish they'd stop. I want them all just to shut the fuck up. It makes me remember and I don't want to remember. Nothing happened. I wasn't even there.

You stare at Mary Holden. "Fuck off, Mary. She took too many pills. Shit happens."

These are big words for you. I sneer to myself for a second, proud of my work with you. Even though you say it so low that only I can hear you, I'm still proud. I'm proud of you.

I haven't seen or spoken to George in a few days. After Grace went missing, he paid me a visit. He paid me visit after visit until they found her body. Maybe he finally felt bad. He wasn't cheating after all, his girlfriend was dead and it was fair game for everyone. Still, George left me just like they all eventually did.

The longest relationship I've had was a couple of months at most. Life's too short to have one relationship. Soon, I get bored, and I move on. Sometimes I want to stay and they leave, but I don't mind.

Mary eventually fumes off and it's just you and me again. You try to get me to talk about it. Express my feelings and whatever. The truth is, I'm Angela Shepard, and I'm not scared of anything, not even this. It was an accident. I was tripping, she attacked me. It was self-defense if nothing else.

I keep thinking this like I believe it.

Maybe soon I will believe that it was just an accident, and that I was just defending myself.

* * *

There's not a knock before the door swings open. "There something you're supposed to give me?"

Tim's not going to care about the failing grade. Normally he just laughs it off and warns me not to do it again, but I always do. Tim was really smart in school. He made A's on every test he took. He just never went to class so he failed pretty much everything. That's why he's now Just Tim instead of International Business Man Tim.

It's the suspension form that he's going to go ape shit about.

He goes over to my bag before I can stop him. I try recovering the note, but I'm too late.

"You brought _my_ blade to school and threatened to _stab_ someone!?"

I didn't threaten. I didn't say anything. I merely pointed at him. He's the one that went crying to the principle. It's really not my fault Billy grabbed my ass one too many times and I got sick of it.

"You could have gotten me caned!" The screaming starts and I hold back an eye roll. That'll only get me a slap across the face at this point. "God, you're so fucking selfish sometimes, Ang."

I turn around in my seat, avoiding eye contact, but he forcefully pulls me back.

"Give it to me."

I stare blankly at him, telling him that I don't know what he's talking about.

He tightens his grip on my arm. "That wasn't a question. It was more of a demand."

There's no way I'm giving it to him out of my own free will. No way in Hell. I need that knife. He has no idea what's out there and what I'm up against. He doesn't know why I've locked myself in my room at night or why he hears me screaming and crying in my sleep. Tim doesn't understand me. He thinks he does, but he never will.

I glare up at him, my expression unchanged. "That your way of telling me to fuck off?" he asks.

My hands turn into fists.

He rolls his eyes, pulling me forward. I learned a long time ago that I'm not scared of Tim. Sometimes I think I am. He tries to insure fear into me, but I'm not afraid of what he might do to me. I'm not an eight year old girl anymore that he can just push around. I'm not that easily thrown anymore.

I'm pulled out of my seat. His grip tightens on my arm, and the longer I refuse to give it to him, the angrier he gets.

After a few minutes, he shoves me to the ground, and I land with a loud thud. My butt aches as I look up at him.

He starts going through my drawers, looking everywhere for it. I try to get up and stop him, but he pushes me back down to the ground every time. I may not be scared of Tim, but he was still bigger than me.

When he finally finds it - buried deep in one of my skirt packet - he stands over me. "Don't fucking do it again." He points the end of the blade at me. "I'll kick the tar out of you the next time I see you with this thing."

I don't respond, though I never do.

"You better drop that look, or I just might do it now."

I don't care. I know he won't. I do know he's capable because he's done it before. Tim's never hit me like he's hit Curly, but he has raised a hand to me more than once.

He kicks my foot before walking over to the door. "You better watch yourself, little girl. I'm not telling you this again."

* * *

I cross my arms over my chest, my heels clicking against the cold hard ground. I'm in my best outfit, the one you and Tim both hate. You hate it because it makes boys look at me and not at you. Tim hates it because the holes show off what my mother blessed me with. He hates it when I dress this way.

You have a bottle in your hands, the front covered up with a brown bag. I take it from you because you don't drink and I do.

It's dark out. We don't know what we're looking for just yet. You're here because you have nothing better to do. I'm here to block out my mind and get away from Tim.

We walk down the streets, following headlights and working street lights, when we hear a string of laughter that draws us in immediately. We go to it. Whoever they are, they sound like they're having fun.

I stand in front of the dark blue car, my hands on my hips. I see what's going on here.

I tap my heel against the ground, making them all look up and see me.

"Shit, man," one of them says, rubbing his head. He tries hiding his blade behind his back. "It's his sister."

They all three scramble. I know them all. Everyone in this town knows these three, especially the one with big blue eyes who stands with confidence. Once he sees me, he doesn't scramble. He stands up straight, looking me in the eyes.

A smirk runs across his lips. "I think she wants to play, boys. Do you want to play, princess?"

I nod slyly.

"Go on and give her the knife, Two-Bit. Let's see what she can do."

He timidly hands over the blade, unsure if he can trust the devil or not.

I hold the blade in the palm of my hand, feeling the weight of it. This was going to good . This was so going to be good.

Dally takes my hand, leading me around the side of the car. He pushes me down on my knees and kneels beside me. He points to the back right tire. "Stab it as hard as you can, running it across the rubber."

I look up at you. You're standing over me with that look on your face that says 'don't do this. It's a bad idea.'

"Go on, princess," Dally coos. "Do it."

So I do. Air blows out and I slide the blade along the rubber just like Dally said. He's laughing hysterically and whooping and hollering. He's enjoying this more than I am. Here I am - his worst enemy's little sister - doing his dirty work.

A sly smile appears on my face once I'm done. All the tires are out now, and Dally stands proud.

He nudges me with his elbow. "Good job, sweets. Nice work."

I lick my lips over, imagining what Dallas Winston would taste like. I've never been interested, but tonight, there are no rules. It's fair game, and nothing matters anymore.

I lean against the hood of the car, smiling at him.

He grins. "What, princess?"

I continue to smile, giving him a free pass.

"Shit."

His hand wraps around my back as he pulls me up so our lips lock. He practically picks me up as he kisses me fiercely. His tongue hits mine again and again and again. He tastes like cheap beer and cigarettes. Though I don't want Dallas, I play a good act, and here and there, I think about going further with him, just to see.

Two-Bit whistles. "Shit!"

Dally and I don't move right away. That was the warning sign.

We were just too stupid to take it.

The next thing I see is blood. Dallas Winston's blood on my clothes. I can't see through the darkness, but I know who it is.

You've gone running. I think maybe Two-Bit took you and ran with the other guy. I'm not sure. All I know is that it's just Dally and I left and we have to face the monster alone.

"You think you can fucking slash my tires _and _fuck my sister, Winston?"

Dally stumbles, holding his face. He laughs through the blood. "Who said_ I_ slashed your tires? Your sister is a pistol, Shepard. I'll give you that. Too bad we couldn't make it to your back seat."

I hear the hits. I get up off the car and try to run too, but I'm pulled back.

The slap catches me off guard. I lose my footing and flat on my ass on the cold hard ground. I stare upward. "Don't. Fucking. Move."

I sit there and watch the fight until it ends and I'm dragged up.

* * *

He pulls me out of the car as soon as it comes to a halt in front of the house. The driver's side door slams and before I have a chance to lock mine, he's already there and it's flung open.

He doesn't say anything as he pulls me out. I stumble, losing my balance, but he doesn't notice or mind. He keeps dragging me towards the front door of the house with no regard to me. His nails dig into my skin and I wince. I am worried about what Tim is going to do to me. I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid of anything. I'm Angela Shepard. Nothing scares me.

Tim pushes me forward into the house. He has a hold of my shoulder so I can't run.

The door slams shut behind me and I know I'm in for it now.

The second slap doesn't catch me off guard like the first one. I expected this one. He raises his hand to do it again, but I catch it, holding it in place. My eyes glare up at him, my lips pressed together.

He drops his hand to his side. "Slashing my tires and having your tongue down Winston's throat? You're fucking in for it now."

I give him a look that tells him he doesn't scare me. Tim could beat me until I was black and blue, and I still wouldn't be afraid of him.

He grabs my arm, squeezing tightly. He starts to drag me to my room, when someone comes out of the downstairs bedroom. "What the hell is going on out here?"

David appears with red eyes and pit stains.

Tim pushes me towards him, sneering. He and I both know what the plan is now. "This little shit's been out slashing tires."

He doesn't say his tires, because he knows David could care less. He's playing this well.

David looks at me. "That true? You been slashing _my _tires?"

Tim doesn't answer the question. He knows I won't either and that it'll make David angrier.

I look behind me at Tim, and he doesn't hold back a sly smirk that says 'I win, baby sister.'

He pushes me towards David again so this time I'm right in front of him. I don't know which is worse, Tim wailing on me, or David. Eventually, Tim will stop or just give up. David never gives up and he doesn't stop until he's tired of hitting.

David assumes it's his tires when no one answers his questions, and he lunges for me. I try to doge him, but tonight, Tim's not going to stand up for me and protect me. This is what he wants - David to do his dirty work. It was the best of both worlds for Tim right now, and he leaves us alone.

As David starts to grab me, I plot.

Tim Shepard will be the fucking death of me.

_When you're young you always take what you can get. Even bicycles and sprinklers get you wet. Now I know that there's a different way to die. My body breathes. Heart still beats. But I am not alive. Follow me down to the river. Drink while the water is clean. Follow me down to the river tonight. I'll be down here on my knees._

* * *

**A/N: **I have something big planned for the next chapter. So if you want to see it soon, please review! :)


	3. Cherry Bomb

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the _Outsiders _the song "My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark"

* * *

_B-B-B-Be careful making wishes in the dark, dark. Can't be sure when they've hit their mark. And besides in the mean, mean time. I'm just dreaming of tearing you apart. I'm in the de-details with the devil. So now the world can never get me on my level. I just gotta get you off the cage. I'm a young lover's rage. Gonna need a spark to ignite._

They've stopped talking about her and what happened. I've stopped having nightmares and seeing the blood on my hands. Bigger things are going around, and it holds everyone's attention.

I've heard all the rumors about my brother and his gang. People ask me questions every day and I hear the whispers. Tim has always told me not to listen and if I had anything to ask, I was to ask him. I didn't used to believe what I heard in the halls at school, but I'm starting to listen now. Things are being said and things are starting to add up.

I didn't know who Grace's brother was at the time. It wasn't until the rumors started that I figured it out real quick. It makes me panic, but I remember that only you know what happened, and you'd never tell on me.

Tim's under attack by his worst enemy, second to Dallas Winston. There are many speculations why, but I haven't figured out the whole story yet. It's not like I can ask either. Tim won't tell me, and I don't speak.

"Hey," he says, slowly coming into my room. "You alright?"

This is the first night he's been home in two weeks. This is the first time he's spoken to me since that night he pulled me off of Dally.

I don't look up at him.

He enters the room anyway. "He didn't wail on ya too bad, did he?"

He's leaning against the frame of the door, watching me do my homework. He thinks it's my homework anyway. I haven't done homework since elementary school and I had to draw a picture of what I wanted to be when I grew up.

I drew a picture of a girl with a gun and a bunch of dead bodies and I got my hands slapped with a ruler. Later came the consoling and learning how to be a proper young lady.

"Well, you totally deserved it, you know that?"

He knows I'm angry at him and that I have a good right to be. Tim always complains about the way David acts, yet he throws me at him and gives an open invitation for him to do it.

"C'mon, Angel. You were on the hood of my car with Dallas fucking Winston of all people. Don't play dumb either. I know you did it on purpose."

Curly is on my bed, reading one of my girl magazines. He's only reading it so he'll have something to think about tonight when he's alone in his room with nothing to do. I've caught him stealing them before and I wonder why he can't just steal Tim's porn. He's got a whole stash under his mattress.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't looked at one here and there.

Curly huffs, flipping the page. "Looks like she doesn't want to talk, Tim." He laughs like he's made a really funny joke.

Yeah, I'm the joke because I don't speak yet he's reading a Seven Teen magazine to masturbate to.

Tim's staring at me, waiting for a response, but I don't look up. He's not just apologizing. Tim doesn't apologize. He recognizes what he's done wrong, but in the end, he wants you to be the one apologizing.

"Fine, fuck you then."

The door slams, and he's gone.

"He has better things to do than deal with this," Curly says from the bed. "Maybe if you got your head out of your ass, you'd realize you're just being a little shit."

* * *

The shadows cling to the side of the house and start moving. I can't tell if I see the boys or darkness shaped like them. The ground underneath is breathing up and down, up and down, like the demons below are trying to tell us that they are here, and they are watching. They see us at this party, and they know what we're up to.

You take my hand. You're scared and this makes me laugh. You're scared of everything.

There's a boy that stands on the front pouch. He's holding out a drink for me and I take it and he takes my hand.

The walk is a mile long to the back deck. I hear my footsteps echo on the wood. The drink in my hands is cold and as I drink it, my insides turn to fire. It burns everything inside of me. Everything I try to hide and keep locked down. This kills them, and that's why I drink and drink and drink.

The boy's name is James. He invited us here. He's in my history class. He passed me a note with a cat on it. _I want your pussy, _it read. I drew back a picture of a roster missing its head and wrote: _I'll tear you apart._ And this is what led to me being here. You came for the ride and because you were so excited James invited you too and you blushed.

You won't do anything but sit in the corner and make me leave early, but I let you tag along.

James takes me up to a bedroom. There's a girl inside on the phone and he hisses at her. "Get the fuck out, bitch." The girl rolls her eyes and James yells after her. "Turn off the lights."

"Does it hurt?" he asks me.

The bed creeks as he moves up and down, up and down.

I shake my head.

"It feels good, right?"

I nod my head.

He gives me a cigarette once we're through. His fingers brush against my skin and he tells me what we just did was beautiful. That I'm beautiful and he's never met anyone as beautiful as me.

I smoke and nod. Same line every time. I wish someone would be original for once. That would be nice.

An hour later and we're back down stairs. James gives me something cellophane out of a make-up compact and I take it like I do every time. I let it dissolve on my tongue and I smile up at him.

The lights are out and everyone's dancing. James leads me through the crowd and sweaty bodies bump up against me. I wonder where you're at. What you're doing. Are you safe? I think all these things but I don't go look for you. You'll find me when you need me or when I need you. Whichever one comes first.

James and I keep dancing. He keeps lighting cigarettes and joints and putting them in my mouth like candy. The song slows down and his cold hand slivers up my stomach and touches my breast and he squeezes hard. I shut my eyes and let my body move with the music as I feel his pants getting bigger and harder against my hip.

A few songs later and I find you on the sofa alone. I run over to you and lay my head down on your lap. I'm smiling and laughing but you look like your dog just died.

"I want to go home."

I close my eyes and pretend like I don't hear you.

You push your finger against my temple. "I'm going to leave. Come with me."

James is motioning me to come back to him. I'm sweaty and out of breath. I can't see straight and the room is spinning.

I find myself back in James' arms and you're gone.

Drinks are being poured down my throat like water and boys are surrounding me and watching this. James is laughing like it's the funniest thing in the world to him, and right now, it is to me too.

Until the door slams open and as always, my night is ruined.

"Tim is going to kick your ass."

He keeps moving and I can't stand straight. He's laughing at me and pulling me out of the house. I don't put up much of a fight because the party is over anyway. In the morning, I'll be so angry with my big brother for dragging me out of a party like a baby. He's only upset because he wasn't invited.

The car is making me sick. Nothing is standing still.

Curly takes me to the Dingo and orders coffee and French fries while I puke in the bathroom. I hear him cackling each time I gag.

I wipe my mouth and splash some water on my face. Black lines run down my cheeks and I do my best to scrub the rest of my make-up off too. The night is over. There's no need for it anymore.

Curly pushes the plate of fries to me. It's half gone but he swears salt food will cure a hangover. He tells me to drink the coffee fast because he's supposed to meet Tim here in ten minutes. I'm not worried about how mad he'll be. By the sounds of things, he has bigger things to worry about than me being at a party.

"Who was that crusty looking geek?" Curly asks, sneaking in another fry.

I shrug and stop eating. Salty food doesn't help. It just makes it worse.

"Didn't look like your type."

And how does he know what my type is?

I don't ask why Curly came to the house. Curly is always looking for fun on Friday nights. I don't ask how he knew I was there because everyone talks in this town and I can't get away with much without one or both of my brothers finding out. Some things they choose to ignore. Other's they confront me about. As the older I get, the more they choose to ignore.

The bell rings at the top of the diner door. "Get in the car. We gotta go."

* * *

Tim drives us around for an hour. He's face is stone as he stares straight ahead and nothing else. Curly tries to start up a conversation a few times but Tim's not the mood to talk. He's wearing his old warn out leather jacket, grass stained jeans, and he has a cigarette poking out of one side of his mouth.

After a few minutes of Curly begging to know where we're going, Tim grunts out a, "errand to run."

Curly and I both know what that means. I sink further down into my seat and wish I had gone home with you. At least I would be in my bed asleep right now. It's after two and it's started raining. Everyone's home right now except for the Shepard clan. We're out "running errands" for Tim's stupid gang.

I hate that gang most of the time. It's nothing but trouble. I wish it was more like the Curtis gang where everyone just sat around and played poker, and once in a while, they'd fight but only when it was something worth fighting for. Tim's gang will fight someone for just being fat. They're a gang against fat people if you ask me.

I drift off asleep but soon Curly is shaking me awake. "Me and Tim are gonna run inside real fast. Tim says stay in the car and he means stay in the car. I wouldn't want to mess with him tonight."

I never just stay in the car, but tonight, I don't want to get involved with this. I'm tired and I'm not high or drunk anymore and I just want to go home and sleep this off. Maybe this is my punishment. It'd be one of the worst Tim's shoveled out over the years.

Tim and Curly go inside and I lie down in the backseat. I don't want anyone to come out here and see me and try to start up a conversation.

The driveway is full of cars but inside the house it looks like everyone is asleep. This doesn't look like any kind of party I've been to before or Tim has delivered to.

It takes Curly and Tim forty-five minutes before they come back. I sleep for most of the time but Tim instructs Curly to wake me up once they get back. This is my punishment. He's forcing me to stay awake and endure this hangover.

On the next stop Tim hands Curly a brown paper bag with stains on the bottom. "Don't do anything stupid. If they don't pay you the full amount, tell them to come out here and take it up with me."

"Why aren't you coming in?"

"Angie and I got to talk."

Curly sticks his tongue out at me as he leaves, knowing full well I'm about to get an ear full. I hope whoever is in that house knocks the shit out of him.

Tim turns around in his seat and glares at me. "Sit up."

I don't. I don't see anything wrong with lying down while he yells at me. He just wants things done his way.

He smacks the back of my leg, not hard enough to hurt, but it's a warning that he's ready to kick the shit out of me if I fight anymore. "Sit up. I ain't gonna yell. Just listen."

I roll my eyes and do what he says. Curly's right tonight is not the night to mess with Tim.

"I'm going to drop Curly back off at his car after this. I've got to make one more stop and then I'll take you home."

I arch an eyebrow. I don't understand why I can't go back home with Curly. Maybe it's because Tim wants to carry out this punishment of not letting me sleep.

"David's pissed at you," he says lightly. "If that's why you're wonder why I'm not dragging your ass home any time soon. One of your boyfriends came to the house looking for you. Guy with black greasy hair and dark skin. He woke David up."

That doesn't surprise me. David is always mad at one of us about something. Usually he doesn't act on his anger unless it's something really bad. He's too drunk and fat to catch us, so most of the time we run and he gives up. Waking David up from his sleep is the number one rule you don't want to break in our house. As if it's my fault George is stupid enough to do it.

Why was he even over? We haven't spoken since they found Grace.

The only other time Tim has hid me from David when he was so mad was when I was seven. It was soon after Ma got married to the bum and he was starting to assert himself as our "dad." He'd punished me a few times before they got married and a few after, but one night, I got fed up with it. So I went around the house and collected everything he could possibly use to hit me with: belts, rulers, hairbrushes, slippers, anything I could find.

Let's just say David wasn't too happy when he came home from work with his face beat red because his pants fell down in front of all his coworkers because he failed to find a belt that morning.

Tim turns back around in his seat, looking at me through the mirror. "You look like shit. You keep taking that trippy shit and you're going to go bald. It happens. I heard it on the news."

It's not true.

"Seriously," he says sternly. "Cut that shit out. It ain't good for you."

What would he know? Tim's never touched anything like that before. He rarely uses his own drugs except for his weed.

"What's taking Curly so fucking long?"

I rest my head against the window, hoping I can sneak in a quick nap before Tim notices me.

Suddenly, someone is shaking me awake again, this time it's Tim. "Hey. I got to do this run."

I rub my eyes and fully sit up. It takes me a second to realize that I was asleep. Curly isn't here anymore and we're across the street from an apartment building on the other side of town. The dashboard flashes four thirty and my head hurts.

Tim slams my door shut. "Stay in the car."

My brain is beating against my skull. I message my temples and shut my eyes for a second. I could sleep for days, but I know Tim will never let me do that. Sometimes I swear I hate him, and I wish one day on one of these errands, someone will give him what's been coming to him.

I don't have to wait long. The sound of an engine reeving causes my eyes to shoot open and look at Tim crossing the street, a black El Dorado coming his way.

And boom.

It happens.

My blood turns icy in my veins and my stomach drops to my knees.

My eyes grow wide. I've found it. I've found my strength to scream. "Tim!"

_A constellation of tears on your lashes. Burn everything you love, then burn the ashes. In the end everything collides. My childhood spat back out the monster that you see. My songs know what you did in the dark. So light 'em up, up, up. Light 'em up, up, up. Light 'em up, up, up. I'm on fire._

* * *

**A/N: **If you read the summary "I stopped talking...But of course they wouldn't leave me alone" then you know that eventually Angela would talk ;) Thank you so much for reading and please leave your thoughts in a review!


	4. Black Box Record

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the _Outsiders_ or the song "Cherry Bomb"

* * *

_Stone age love and strange sounds too. Come on baby let me get to you. Bad nights cause'n teenage blues. Get down ladies you've got nothing to lose. Hello Daddy, hello Mom. I'm your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb. Hello world I'm your wild girl. I'm your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb._

"I said I wanted some chips an hour ago!"

I roll my eyes, not giving in to be the one that actually gets up and does it. It's been this way ever since Ma went back to work and Curly has managed to make escapes and not come home until night fall. I try to do it myself but I always get up later than him. So I'm stick here, rotting away with the pizza boxes on the floor.

"Angel!"

I bury my head in my pillow, pretending I'm not there. If I go down there, I'm going to scream. I know I am. I can feel it coming on.

"Angela!"

I hate my life.

"What?" I grumble as I come down the stairs. "What do you want, master?"

He shoots me a glare, one that to most normally people would make the hairs on the back of their necks stand up. I've seen that look for fifteen years now. It doesn't faze me anymore.

He shakes his empty glass at me. "You hear that?"

"No."

"Exactly."

I huff, grabbing the glass from him so fiercely that I think I'm going to break it in my grasp. I fill it up under the tap and make sure not to wait until the brown stuff comes out before filling it up. What's he going to do? He can't chase me if I run.

The water splashes out of the cup as I slam it back down beside him. "There. Happy?"

He takes small sips of it. "My fucking leg is broke. Quite actin' like you're the goddamn victim over there. I'd like to see you get hit by a car and see how you feel."

_I got hit by a car. My leg is broken._ It's all I've heard for weeks now. I'm about sick of it. I was there, I saw it happen. It's been weeks now and he still hasn't moved off that stupid couch and he's made sure I haven't left this house. This is my job now, certified babysitter for the crippled.

"Dick," I spit.

"I liked it better when you didn't talk."

"I liked it better when you didn't get hit by car."

Tim's sent out the dogs on this one. Everyone's looking for the car that did it but everyone has come up empty. It's long gone by now. Probably some drunk who couldn't see and then just fled. Tim thinks it was someone who was after him but I think he's just paranoid. Since I was the one there, I'm the one getting the most questions.

It's driving me insane. This whole thing is driving me insane.

I hide out in my room until Curly comes home later that night. "Some guy is here for you."

I gaze up, looking out my window at the dark skinned kid sitting on my porch. You're there too, sitting on my swing that my real father built for Tim and Curly before I was born. You've always loved that swing. I'd sit on the edge of the porch, facing you while you would swing, and you would give me all the advice I needed to survive in this world.

My eyes dart back over at Curly who's watching me watch you. "Tell 'im I'm busy."

"Do it yourself," he grumbles, rolling his head back, blowing me off. "Better get him quick. I think he's headed inside to talk to Tim."

Shit.

My feet hit the wooden stares quickly. The house groans as I pick up my speed. It's rumbling, as if we're in the body of a whale, never being able to get out.

George is standing up beside Tim on the couch. You're sitting in the arm chair and I wonder how you could have let this happen. Maybe you were getting back at me for not leaving with you at the party. I haven't seen you sense then. Maybe this was your revenge.

George's face grows bright as he spots me.

I don't return the same expression. "What are you doing here?"

He's shocked by the harshness in my voice. My voice at all. "I wanted to talk to you...wait-"

"She can talk. She ain't a fucking retard."

It's been the big question around town. What finally made me snap? What finally got to me? I never thought of people thinking I couldn't physically talk. That was a new one for sure. Still, this is not what George is expecting. He didn't picture my voice this way. I've crushed his little fantasy.

I'm sure he liked it better when I didn't talk too. Boys always like it when their girls don't talk.

My arms are crossed over my chest. I'm glaring at you because you have the sickest smirk on your face. I want to slap it off, but I have bigger problems that you. "So you came to my house and start talking my brother?" I ask George.

He stumbles to explain himself. He looks to Tim for guidance and I wince. Tim's already gotten to him. Another one bites the dust.

"We were just-"

"Talking," Tim says, coolly, blowing smoke in my direction from his cigarette. "You talk now. This is a _conversation_. We were just chatting, weren't we George?"

George looks back and forth from me to Tim. He doesn't know whether to answer or continue to stand there.

Tim and I aren't focusing on George right now. Our eyes are locked, fire blazing, a silent war going on. We don't need words. We never needed them. Tim and I get each other, and that's why we're pure poison together. We're two of the same kind of deadly chemical. When we're like this...

BOOM!

He's up to something, that's for sure.

"I want to talk to you about Grace," George breaks us a part.

Tim's smoking that same cigarette, slowly, letting the smoke glide off his lips. His smile is evil and daring. Daring for me to jump and attack. I want to snatch up that stupid cigarette, burning his eyeball with it.

"Come to my room." I turn my back, signaling George to follow.

"No," Tim barks.

My shoulders tense up. "What?"

"He ain't going up there with you _alone_."

My back is still turned. If I turn around, I'm going to do something I'll regret later. I'm going to rip his head off his body. "Boys have come into my room plenty of _times_," I stress the word at the end.

"Yeah, when I had full use of my legs and could listen to every fucking word you said."

I was only stupid enough to bring boys home when Tim was here only a couple of times. I was young and under estimated Tim. I will never do that again. That's Tim for you - he's capable of more than you could possibly imagine.

"Come to my room," I growl lowly at George again.

"But he said-"

"I don't care," I snap, grinding my teeth. I turn my hand into a fist, pressing my thumbnail hard against my skin, drawing blood. "I said to come. Who are you more scared of? Me or him?"

George squirms and you laugh. You're enjoying the show we're putting on here. You're always up for an old fashion Shepard fight. When we were young, about eight or so, I scared you when I brought you home. You'd never seen a fight like we put on. You'd never heard the words we said. That's the thing about you - you're innocent. It hasn't been beaten out of you yet. You still believe in the good in people.

I turn back around, grabbing Georges hand and squeezing it tightly. I'm grown, and the Shepards don't fight like that anymore. We don't use our fists. We've grown to using stronger things that hurt more.

"Pussy." I tug him along. "C'mon, it ain't like he can follow us."

* * *

You follow us to my room. You always follow. That's what you do. I don't know how you'd survive without me.

George sits down on my bed, begging for a cigarette after that whole ordeal. I almost feel bad for him, but then I realize he's the one who went inside and sat beside the monster.

His hand shakes as he holds the cigarette to his mouth. "You're brother's scary, man."

"Nah. Just likes people to think he is."

I pick up my bright red nail polish. Tim hates it because he says it makes me look like a hooker.

The brush hits my nail, gliding across, turning it from pale pink to a shiny new red color. It glows in the light, and I hold it out to admire its beauty.

"He got hit by a car, you know," I tell George. "Doctors said he shouldn't be alive. Said it's impossible. That's Tim for you. He isn't scary. He's just immortal. He can't die. Shoot him in the face - he won't even blink."

I watch his Adam's apple bob as he gulps.

My lips curl up as I blow my nail with my breath. "Says he knows how to get hit by a car...whatever that means. He's watched all the movies. Relaxing your body is the key. That's his excuse for not dying. My brother ain't going to go down like that by getting hit by a fucking car in the middle of the ghetto."

My eyes dart to you. You're watching George and you can see him sweat too. You're enjoying this more than I am. Look at you, getting two shows in one night. Aren't you lucky? That's why you stay with me - I entertain you.

I shake my hand dry, picking up the polish and going to the next one. "What about Grace?"

He almost forgets why he's here. "Oh...I, um...I just wanted to talk to you. That night at the party you seemed like a good listener. I thought maybe I could talk to you and you could-"

"Fuck you?"

"No!"

I sneer, blowing the next nail dry. I know that's what he wanted the second he stepped up to my porch.

My legs are crossed, causing my skirt to be a little shorter than usual. I can feel him staring. "Let's talk about Grace."

He swallows hard again. I can hear his stomach burn. "Someone..." he cuffs his collar, trying to cool off, "someone saw us together that night. Then they saw you go off into the woods and she followed you."

You look up at me, eyes wider than mine are. You know just like I do that no one was around that night when I went into the woods. No one knew we were together. Everyone was too far gone from reality.

"Who?"

"I-I don't know. Just a friend."

"Tell me who!" I'm out of my seat, inches away from his face. My leg is on top of his and I'm breathing down his neck. "Tell me who told you this! I want to know who is spreading lies about me!"

He holds his hands up, getting that same terrified child look on his face like he got with Tim earlier. "I swear, I don't know his name. Just some guy that was asking me questions earlier."

My hand tightens around his neck. "Give. Me. A. Name!"

"Alright! It was her brother, alright!?"

* * *

Tim and Andrew go way back. Back to the first grade. Julia showed Tim her panties at recess. Julia was Andrew's girl. Andrew glued Tim to his seat. Tim made him eat sand. In middle school, Morgan gave Andrew a blow job in the bathroom. Tim walked in on them, cum dripping from the girl's face. Morgan was Tim's girl. Tim jumped Andrew in the back parking lot. Andrew busted Curly's head in.

The list goes on and on.

Andrew lives about thirty minutes away - the next town over. He started up a gang as soon as Tim did. They sell the same shit, talk to the same people, fight with each other over meaningless shit. They are enemies - the pure definition.

My body shivers as the wind hits me. I tighten my jacket. You're behind me, telling me to stop and calm down but I can't. I didn't sleep last night. I stayed up and thought. I kept dreaming it, you see. I kept replaying that night over and over again in my head. It's hitting. It's really hitting.

I killed her in cold blood. Then I just _left_ her there to rot. I killed her. I _killed_ her.

I can feel the weight in my pocket. I feel the heavy metal hit my hip with each stride I take. I'm moving fast but my body burns with so many things. It can't take this anymore. I can't shake it anymore.

This isn't a dream anymore. I can no longer pretend. This is reality and it's coming for me.

"Just calm down for a second!" you yell after me.

I don't slow down. I know you're slow and you can't catch up to me. You're my best friend. I'm supposed to be able to talk to you about this and have you hold me and everything be ok. This is bigger than that though. This isn't going to be fixed by a simple pat on the back.

"Angela!"

"Fuck off! Fuck off, alright? Do you not get it? Can you not figure out who was driving the car who hit Tim!? Can you not figure out why they hit him!?"

You stand there as if I just kicked you or physically hurt you. You watch me as I walk away from you, blowing you with dust as I march further and further into the middle of nowhere. Out here, no one can bother me. No one can get to me. No one can find me. This is my oasis and even though I love you almost as much as I love myself, I can't let you come with me.

This is something I need to do one my own.

My real father taught Tim to shoot a gun when he was five. It was the best thing he taught him to do - so Tim says. Tim then taught Curly and then taught me. He thought it was his job to teach us to be safe and know how to use a gun in case we needed to. What my father and Tim didn't take into consideration was that us Shepards are fucked up people, and placing a gun in our hands is a recipe for disaster.

About half a mile later of walking, I stop. This is my spot. Shady trees are over top of me and the sand is soft and warm to the touch. There's a small shed in front of me that I built last year when I begged Curly to teach me how to build things.

My hand shakes as I take the gun out of my pocket. It's heavy and cold to the touch.

My arm shakes as I hold it out in front of me, my pointer finger locked on the trigger.

"Fucked up."

Bang.

"Stupid."

Bang.

"Immature."

Bang.

"Worthless."

Bang.

"Fucked up."

Bang.

"Kid."

My face is wet with tears by the time I blow through the last bullet. Five holes are shot into the side of my shack and I don't feel better. This isn't working the way I want it to. I don't know what I want, but I always heard shooting shit makes people feel better. Maybe sooner or later, I'll gather up the strength to point the gun back to me.

I've thought about killing myself before. Nothing serious, just the occasional emotion tantrum. I imagined how I'd do it, taking the gun and putting it in my mouth or maybe just going for the chest or the head. I pictured Curly finding me, then my mother, then Earl, then Tim. What would they think of me now that I was dead on the ground covered in blood? Would their view of me change? What about the girls at school? What about all the boys who've I've allowed to fuck me? What would they think?

Maybe if I had done it when I thought about it, this mess wouldn't have happened. Maybe if I was just as strong as I think I am….

My sobs are all I hear as I collapse on the ground. I didn't mean to fuck everything up. I really didn't.

"You know, I find that shooting squirrels is more fun than shooting at some shitty building."

The sand hisses as my legs scramble to turn around. Immediately, without thought, I point the gun up.

My eyes come to meet a pair of perfectly shaped brown eyes. I always thought the villains had the dark eyes. That's what all the movies make you think - brown eyes are darkness. Not these eyes. These eyes are anything but dark. They make me pull back, reverting back to a more peaceful stance.

No one has that effect on me.

Coming out of my trance, I soon realize where I'm at and why there shouldn't be a person standing in front of me. I point my gun back up. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

He shrugs, kicking the sand with his shoe.

"I'll fucking shoot you!"

This makes him smirk. Really smirk. It's nothing sarcastic like Tim's or Curly's. It's almost like a beautiful laugh. Like birds singing. "What's stopping you?"

That's the question I can't answer.

He takes a step forward, walking towards me, ignoring the fact that I have a loaded gun in my hands.

"Don't come any closer!"

But he doesn't stop.

Not until he gets right in front of me. He stands over me, looking down. "What's a beautiful girl like you got to be sad about?"

"Don't call me that!" I shout, pointing the gun higher. "Don't call me that!"

He holds his hands out, just like George did. "Sorry. I won't."

"I'm not beautiful. Don't say that. I'm so fucking tired of people saying that. You don't know shit about what I'm like on the inside. No fucking idea!"

His legs shift, making me jump. He kneels down in front of me so we're eye level. Then he reaches his hand out slowly, despite the fact that there's a gun pointing at his chest, and he wipes a tear away.

He stares at me, moving a loose hair out of my face. "I don't see anything but a sad glorious, stunning, divine, creature sitting in the middle of nowhere, pitting herself over nothing."

The sand shifts again as he gets up, turning his back to me.

My heart beats against my chest, something inside of me burning as he leaves. "You don't know shit about me!"

"Maybe you'll come find me when you're not so sad. I would love to see how you look with a smile."

His back grows smaller and smaller as he disappears into the distance.

Who the fuck was that?

_Hey street boy, what's your style? Your dead end dreams don't make you smile. I'll give ya something to live for. Have ya, grab ya til you're sore. Hello Daddy, hello Mom. I'm your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb. Hello world, I'm your wild girl. I'm your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb._

* * *

**A/N: **I hope you guys didn't believe that Tim would die that easily. ;)

I hope you all still haven't forgotten what happened in the first chapter because it's important from here on out! I'd love to hear you guy's predictions. Please drop a review before you leave :)


	5. Follow Me Down

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the _Outsiders_ or the song "You're Gonna Go Far Kid"

**A/N: **Sorry for the lack of updates. I've kind of lost inspiration for this story.

* * *

_Show me how to lie. You're getting better all the time. And turning all against the one is an art that's hard to teach. Another clever word sets off an unsuspecting herd. And as you step back into line. A mob jumps to their feet. Now dance, fucker, dance. Man, he never had a chance. And no one even knew it was really only you._

People often say this is a man's world. People in this town, they believe it. All these preppy Socs with their long skirts like they're trying to hide something, they believe it. They're too innocent and decent to go after a boy. They hold out, just praying for the day when a boy will look their way and make their panties wet.

What they don't understand is that they hold the true power in this world.

...I'm not that kind of girl.

"George! George!"

They always like it when you scream their name. It makes it seem like they're pleasing you instead of the other way around. Men like to feel big, especially when they're inside of you.

The car bounces up and down and the windows are fogged. My legs are trembling, and I'm on top.

So if the girl's on top, who's the one getting fucked?

I fix my skirt as I get out of the car. George stays behind a little longer. Probably to jerk off for rounds two and three.

The school parking lot is a mess with Socs galore. They all stare at me, their hands covering their mouths as they whisper to their friends standing beside them. They think they're getting to me. What they don't know is that people have been whispering about me since my mother pushed me out.

I've always said: if they aren't whispering about you, then you're not worth talking about, and if you're not worth talking about, well, then you just aren't living now are you?

The Catholic school is located on the Soc's side of town. Why I have to go here, I haven't figured out. Ma says we're Catholic and that's why even though we haven't gone to church since I was like five. I'm pretty sure God hates me too, so I don't see why the fuck I have to sit in this dusty class room with girls who have skirts down to their ankles.

Some girl is up at the front of the class. Where they got this one from is beyond me. She's not a nun like these other cunts, but she's almost just as worse.

"Safe sex is no sex. Blah, blah, blah. It's a girl's job to be pure. Blah, blah, blah. God likes pure girls. Blah, blah, blah."

I tap my pencil against the desk to the beat of the Rolling Stones song I heard this morning.

If these cunts knew I listened to the Rolling Stones, they'd have me castrated.

"Angela?" Her eyes lock on me, a sweet smile plastered on her acne infested face. "What kind of safe sex methods do you practice?"

Is she seriously asking _me_ this? Why? Do I have 'I'm not a prune' sticker on my forehead? Is it because my skirt comes down to my thighs like a normal person? Is it because my thighs aren't glued together?

"Angela?"

I lift my head up, chewing on my eraser. "Well, I do practice safe sex."

"Oh. Well good for you."

"Yeah." I sneer, leaning back in my desk. "I go with something called the pull out method."

* * *

They used to paddle me for stuff like these. I've been in this chair before, knowing that's next. The Dean gets a thrill out of it. When I bend over his desk, and my skirt rides up a little and he gets a little peak at my panties, he's thinking of all the horrible things he wants to do to me on this desk.

Today though, there's no paddle, and Ma is here.

I smack my gum so loudly that I can't hear what he's telling her. Ma's been in here probably more times than I have. She's heard it all before. She knows who I am. She can't deny that she gets on her knees every night and prays that God will take drown the demons out of my head and make me the little angle she's always wanted.

My demons know how to swim.

"Expulsion."

Her nails dig into my skin as she drags me through the parking lot. Her face is bright red, and her breaths are unsteady.

I smile, though she can't see me. If we weren't in the school parking lot with witnesses, she'd slap the smile right off my face.

"I can't believe you! I pay for that goddamn school and you go and pull this shit. What am I going to do with you?"

I grin, just to piss her off even more. This is what I live for, making my mother's life hell just like she's helped make mine. "Guess I'll be going to public school with the rest of Tulsa's finest, huh?"

* * *

My hands go under the soapy water, hitting the hard glass underneath. My hands are warm from the water. I don't bother letting the water out. Maybe I'll get lucky and hit something sharp.

David and Ma went out dancing for the night. That's what they called it anyway. I'm not exactly sure what dancing's code for other than maybe getting a shitty motel room and fucking until morning.

Either way, I'm stuck here with Curly until Tim gets back. Those were his orders and Ma's and David's. I'm being "punished" still for getting expelled. I have half a mind to just leave and deal with Tim's wrath later, but now that Tim's walking better, he's a little harder to run from.

"Where's Tim?" I ask Curly once midnight comes.

Tim doesn't come home most nights, but tonight he promised to be back. This is only because he wants to make sure I'm still here, so I expected him to be home an hour ago.

Curly shrugs, popping a handful of chips into his mouth. "Ain't got a clue."

"He should be back by now."

I've worried a lot about Tim since the night of the accident. I never used to before, but with the Grace thing still weighing on me, and Andrew being her brother, I'm starting to think someone did hit Tim on purpose. I stay up late at night when he's out and I think about it happening again, only this time I won't be there to call the cops.

I put my coat on and walk towards the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Curly calls after me.

"To go find Tim, not that it's any of your business."

He sits his chips back down, letting me know this is serious because he's actually parting with his food. "The hell you are. He'd kill me for letting you go out. You're still in trouble, little sister."

"Oh bite me," I snap, tightening my scarf around my neck. "He should be home by now. I'm just going to make sure nothin' bad happened."

I'm about to head out, when his arm pulls me back. "Well I'm going with you."

I scowl. "I can handle it myself."

"It's midnight and you're going to walk the damn streets?" he questions, grabbing his blue jean jacket off the couch. "You're just a kid, Angel."

I hate that word. I get it all the time. I'm not a kid. I've seen more shit than most people my age. I've been through more shit than most people go through in a lifetime. I may not have years under my belt, but I've got experience.

"I'm not a kid."

He smirks, towering over me to make me feel smaller. "You try to act like you're not, but you are whether you like it or not. Either you can walk with me, or I'll lock you in the closet until Tim gets back. Which one will it be?"

"I'd like to see you try to lock me up."

"I'm twice your size. You really want to take that challenge?"

Curly's bigger than Tim. He could easily over power me. I'd never let him know that though. I like Curly to think that I'm not going to back down to him like I do Tim.

I huff and march out the door. "Just don't talk to me."

"As if I'd want to."

* * *

Curly keeps his promise of not talking to me. It's nice really, walking in silence at night. It gives me time alone with my thoughts which right now are circling around the idea of getting some coffee and pie.

We look down every street in hopes to find Tim's car or some kind of sign of him. We even go by the Curtis house because he's always using their couch when he's too drunk or beaten up to make it home.

The big one answers the door. "Nah, Tim's not here."

I gaze behind him at the kid on the couch. Ponyboy. That's his name. I've seen him around before. He hangs around with that nervous kid and sometimes Curly.

"Hey, Pone." Curly waves at him. "You ain't heard anythin' about Tim, have you?"

Ponyboy looks up, his eyes immediately going to me. I'm used to that. When I approach guys, they always take a little time to stare at me. Ma says I give off that whore vibe. According to her, it's not because I'm pretty or anything like that.

"No," Ponyboy answers. "Why, is something wrong?"

"This one," Curly says, hitting me with the back of his hand "is a nervous wreck for some reason. So we're going around looking for him."

I glare at him and start to open my mouth to say something nasty back when the big one speaks. "I heard what happened a few weeks back. He doin' alright?"

He's asking me, not Curly. "Yeah," I answer and he almost looks shocked that I did. "He should have been home an hour ago."

He seems understanding, unlike Curly. I've heard a lot of things about the Curtis'. Their parents died a few months ago and since then the big one has been in charge. I think about what it would be like to have a brother like him. He seems pleasant enough and sympathetic, unlike Curly and Tim.

Curly thanks him and pulls me along. As I back away, my eyes catch Ponyboy's, and I give him a wink.

* * *

"Stay here," Curly hisses into my ear.

I'm half asleep and I don't quite hear him at first. It takes me a minute to realize we're in front of Buck's.

I find a bench nearby and lie down on it and close my eyes for a few seconds.

We've been all over town and there's not a sign of Tim anywhere. I could hold out hope that he went home, but I know better than to think that. My heart burns with the thought of something happening to him.

You're standing over me. "What's wrong?"

"Tim's hurt."

"How?"

"I don't know, but I feel like something bad is going to happen."

You sit down next to me and let my head lay in your lap. It makes me clam down and I'm able to take a few deeps breath so I won't cry. I don't cry. Crying is for the weak and I am not week. I am strong and I'm not scared.

Time passes and Curly's not out here yet. It must be around two.

I consider going inside, but I know that if I go in there I won't come out until morning. Though some alcohol would really ease my nerves right about now.

My eyes shut, and I try to leave my body and go somewhere else.

"Get in the car."

A red truck is parked in front of me. I blink a few times, trying to see who's driving. My head is spinning, and I feel dizzy and groggy. Had I just slept for days? It takes me a minute to figure out where I'm at.

I look around for you, but you're gone. You left me too.

"Get in the goddamn car. I ain't got all day."

I realize by the sound of their voice who it is. He's been friends with my brothers for years and he's in Tim's gang. I don't remember his name right now, but I wish I did.

I pick up my jacket from the bench and walk over to him. "Where's Tim?"

"Get in the car."

I shake my head, taking a step back. "I'm not getting in any goddamn car until you answer my question."

He raises an eyebrow. "You know I could just put you in here myself?"

"I'd like to see you try."

He turns his head to the side, rubbing his chin. His eyes are red with dark circles and he's in no mood for my shit. That's apparent. What's not apparent is why he's here right now, and where my brothers are. Something must be up if this guy is here trying to get me to take a ride with him.

His head turns back to me. "Little shit. You've always been a pistol, haven't you?"

"Fuck off."

He grumbles and mumbles a few cuss words under his breath before finally giving in. "Tim's taking care of some shit. He told me to take you home. So do me a favor and don't make this any harder on me."

I have a spell for getting people to tell me stuff. It always works...except on Tim. He knows all my tricks.

Finally getting what I want, I comply with his request and get in his truck.

I rub my arms as the heat hits my body. I didn't realize how cold I was before.

The guy driving doesn't look over at me. He doesn't speak either. This is his job for the night, and he's going to do it without making small talk.

I lick my lips. "It's about Andrew, isn't it?"

He doesn't respond, giving me my answer.

"Why's he after Tim?"

The guy's body relaxes and he begins to feel comfortable around me. He looks too tired to fight with me any longer, so I know these answer won't be too hard to get out of him.

"Tim was sleeping with his sister before she died."

People say I'm the whore of the family. Tim's just sneakier about his actions. Grace was pretty, I give Tim that. There are just two problems with that: George, and her brother. I can't believe he'd be that stupid to go fuck a girl who was his worst enemy's little sister. Maybe it was payback, but that's one thing you don't do: fuck someone's little sister.

Then, it all begins to click.

Andrew doesn't think I killed Grace.

"He thinks Tim killed her?"

The guy turns to me now, scowling. "I ain't tellin' some kid all this now. Quit asking and keep your mouth shut."

"I'm not a kid. And you don't tell me what to do."

I don't give him time to say anything else. I can't take it anymore. I'm burning. There's scratching in my head and I need to run. I need to escape.

My body makes contact with the ground. Breaks squeak, and I scramble to my feet and I run.

* * *

You're chasing after me. You keep reminding me of how this is a stupid idea, but I keep walking.

"Angela, what are you going to do?" you ask, your feet squishing in the snow.

"The only thing I know how to do."

You disappear, and I'm in front of the door. The music is loud. I turn to liquid, and I open the door.

I find him sitting in one of the bedrooms by himself, a freshly rolled blunt in his hands. He finds me with his eyes, and he grins from ear to ear. "The girl who doesn't speak."

I shut the door behind me. "That time has passed."

"Why the sudden change of heart?"

"I made my point." I walk towards him seductively. "It was time to move on."

He licks his lips. "Move on to what?"

"Anything I want."

Andrew doesn't waste any time. His lips come onto mine, pressing viciously. I feel his teeth bite my bottom lip and I wince. He pulls me into his lap on the couch and his tongue sweeps into my mouth.

One of his hands grips my hips harshly, bruising them. Then he pushes me back into the couch cushion, my hair falling over the leather arm. He crushes his chest to mine. His knee moves between my knees and his lips kiss my neck and then my collarbone.

She's gone.

I'm gone.

My voice doesn't seem to work again. I feel dizzy again as I feel his hand glide up the underside of my thigh, pushing them apart. I gasp and try to sit up. His other hand on my arm holds me down too tight and his body is pressing against me, making it impossible to move. With his jeans against my leg, I feel something protruding from his pocket.

My stomach revolts and I think I'm going to be sick.

I swallow back and close my eyes._ Sometimes you have to do things that you don't like to get ahead. Keep that in mind, Angela. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices._

_And now you'll lead the way. Show the light of day. Nice work you did. You're gonna go far, kid. Trust, deceived! With a thousand lies And a good disguise. Hit 'em right between the eyes. Hit 'em right between the eyes. When you walk away. Nothing more to say. See the lightning in your eyes. See 'em running for their lives_

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you all so very much for the reviews! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Please review!


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